


Static

by quartetship



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 23:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7408963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He promised me that he would come back.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Static

\--

He promised me that he would come back. 

It was only one mission, he told me, and although it would be a long one, I had no reason to worry. Shiro was the best pilot for the job, young but incredibly skilled, and enthusiastic in ways that the older, burnt out pilots couldn't pretend to be. He was excited to work with Doctor Holt and his son, excited to see Kerberos and glimpses of what lie beyond it. 

But he would miss me. He told me so. 

“I wish I had a way to keep in touch while I'm gone. Can't believe I'll have to go all that time without hearing your sweet voice.”

I remember the way I blushed, then. I've never been much the romantic - not the way Shiro was. But hearing his words made my chest tight, and I couldn't help agreeing with him, aloud. It was only the two of us that night, after all. 

“Gonna miss yours too. Gonna miss this.” I tightened my arms around his neck, pulling our bodies closer together, sighing into the crook of his neck and shoulder. I knew I could live without his arms, without that strong, steady warmth for as long as it would take for him to do his job. I would have to. After all, I knew when I fell in love with a pilot what I was getting myself into. And he wouldn't be gone forever. 

With his lips trailing over my flushed skin, he pressed kisses to every inch of me, reminding me that he would come back, and that he would love me, every moment that we were apart. I replied in kind; I needed him to know, just in case anything happened. 

It wouldn't, of course. He promised me. 

The next day, he and the others were shuttled to the station, and the following morning, the set off for places unseen by human eyes. Far, far from my eyes. 

It was time to be patient. 

I waited for months, listening for every scrap of information I could get, eavesdropping on radio transmissions, casual conversations and even whispered worries between military personnel. They all knew things I needed to, and I didn't care how I got ahold of that information. All I cared about was knowing. All I cared about was him. 

Then I woke up one morning to murmurs all around me; the mission had failed. I slammed a classmate against a wall, demanding he tell me what he knew. He sputtered something about a crash and ‘pilot error’, and I knew it couldn't be true. I ran screaming down the barracks halls, looking for anyone who might be able to tell me otherwise, but it was the same, even from the officers who called me down, subdued me. 

The ship was gone, and Shiro was gone with it. I would never see him again. 

I barely remember anything from the next two days, but I remember my anger. I was raw and red and hurting, inside and out. My fingers swelled with bruises from hitting anyone and anything that tried to calm me, and my muscles ached for comfort after being restrained half a dozen times. Instead, I only found more pain. 

They booted me from the garrison, and then I was on my own. Truly alone. 

For weeks after that, I wandered. Aimless and unaccompanied, I had nowhere to go, no family to return to. My future with the garrison and with my first and only love were both gone. I had nothing left. 

Every night before I slept, I cursed the universe for taking Shiro from me. He was the only person on earth who had ever made me feel at home, like I was moving forward instead of just running in place, and then without ceremony or cause, he was gone, forever. I desperately wished it had been my life that had been snuffed out, instead. 

I boiled with anger, with sadness and rage in turns, but there was no one around to hear it. Eventually, I grew tired. The fire inside me burned down, and was left smoldering. But I never forgot. 

I watched the skies for months. If nothing else, it helped me feel more at ease, knowing that I could see the same stars that Shiro had seen, before he died. It wasn't much, but I clung to it, and to the weird sense of longing that drew me out to where I came to live, in the desert. 

Maybe it was something important. Maybe I just missed Shiro. Either way, it was all I had, and I held tight to it. 

Weird things happened, there in the desert. I kept track of all of them, wondering to myself all the while what Shiro would've thought of them. In my dreams, I fantasized about telling him about all of it, showing him the things I'd collected in my solitude. I knew that I'd never be able to, but those dreams soothed my soul. 

I still wanted answers. Shiro was an incredible pilot, everything I'd hoped to be, and there was just no way that an error of his could have resulted in his death. The people who I'd once answered to did everything in their power to silence my questions, to keep me from finding out what they knew - or didn't know - about the crash. So along with the skies, I watched them, as well. 

And one night, something came hurtling into the atmosphere that satisfied both of my curiosities. Something they weren't expecting. Something - someone, it appeared - that I was sure might know what had really happened to Shiro and his team. I was there as quickly as I could make it. 

It was the first time in months I'd had to fight with anyone. I'd kept myself alive through scavenging, avoiding other people. My fists landing against flesh felt sickeningly good, a reminder that I could still protect myself, that other humans were still something worth avoiding, and little more. I had to see whoever or whatever they were trying to subdue, and just the glimpse of another being - unwillingly restrained, the way I had been - made knocking those assholes out all the more rewarding. 

And then I saw their prisoner’s face.

_ Shiro.  _

Everything I thought I knew came to a screeching halt, and my mind was nothing but white noise for a moment as I tried to comprehend what I was seeing. I touched his face, said his name aloud, just to see if he would respond. All he gave me in reply was a weak groan, but it didn't matter. It was  _ something.  _ He was real and warm and  _ alive _ beneath my fingers, and when I finally came to my senses, I didn't hesitate to cut the ties that bound him. I had to get him away from them.

I don't know if he could hear me, but he came along as freely as he was able, all but melting in my arms when I scooped him up. He was heavy, near to dead weight, even when Lance and the others arrived, but I would have found a way to carry him out of there by myself, if I’d needed to. All I could think about was getting him away from those people. I had only just gotten him back, against all odds; I refused to let them keep him from me any longer.

I wasn't scared for a moment, getting out of there. Lance and the others screamed and wailed as he made our escape, and part of me wanted nothing more than to turn sharply and send them all flying. All but Shiro. He was the reason I had no fear. I would've put my life on the line a thousand times that night, to secure his freedom. 

Thankfully, once was enough.

Once we were back at the shack I'd been staying in, I realized things weren't going to be the same. Shiro wasn't the same. The skin beneath his strange garments was marred with rope like scars, webbed across his arms, chest and back. His right arm had been all but replaced by some kind of robotic prosthesis, armored, eerily glowing, and attached to what remained of his own arm in what looked like a painful hack job with a poorly healed ring of scarring. His face was just as beautiful as it ever had been, but a thick scar blemished his skin, and his eyes when they finally opened that morning were tired in a way I had never seen them. There was confusion in those eyes, as I watched him try to work out where he was, what had happened, and who the people around him were. 

Still, he remembered me. At least by name. 

“Keith. Where are we?”

“My house, if you could call it that.” I whispered. The others had nodded off, but I hadn't slept. Sitting beside Shiro, I'd watched him fitfully sleep, until his eyes fluttered open, and he sat up, groaning. I needed him to know he wasn't alone. He was safe. He was with me. 

“Can I… Is it safe outside? I need to walk around. Fresh air, clear my head, you know? Could I?”

I nodded. “Yeah. We're far enough away from the garrison base, you should be fine. Just don't wander off, or anything.” Truly, I didn't want him going anywhere without me, ever again. I was terrified to so much as let him out of my sight. I wanted him where I could watch him, protect him, keep him safe. But I would never ask that of him. 

Instead, he asked me.

“Could you come with me?” He said, his voice soft and still obviously weak. “I'm not sure it's a great idea for me to do anything by myself, until I get my feet under me, anyway.”

I nodded before he'd even finished his sentence. “Of course.”

We walked outside together, leaving the others behind to rest, to deal with later. For the moment, it was just the two of us, greeting the sunrise together, the way we so often had before, and with the warm light bathing Shiro’s changed features, I wondered if he remembered any of it. The way he turned back to smile at me gave me reason to hope - at least until we spoke again. 

“It's good to have you back,” I said plainly, my hand coming to rest on his shoulder. The Shiro I had known so well before would have taken my hand in his, kissed my sore knuckles and thanked me for welcoming him home. He would have taken the moment, free from the gaze of others, to shower the affection he was so fond of sharing onto me, and grin when I flustered at him in response. The Shiro I knew would have taken me in his arms. He would have kissed me. 

But this Shiro did not. 

This person, so like Shiro and yet so entirely unlike him, let my hand fall from his shoulder, smiling without an offer of further action. “It's good to  _ be _ back,” he responded, but he made no move toward me, showed no intention of getting any closer. It was as if he didn't remember me, beyond the name attached to my face. 

He didn't remember  _ us.  _

As every hope I had held onto for months before then faded with the stars as the sun rose higher, I tried to understand. I asked him, what happened, where had he been, and what had changed him. He seemed to know that he was different; that was a small comfort. He looked down at the bionic hand, flexing its fingers and curling them into a fist again before shaking his head, frustrated that he couldn't offer me an answer. But seeing him look back at me as nothing more than a concerned comrade was almost more than I could bear. 

I led him inside, in hopes that showing him what I done, where I had been in the months since his departure would ring some kind of bell. If the bell even still existed to sound, that is. The higher the sun climbed into the sky that morning, the lower my hopes became. 

He didn't remember,  _ couldn't _ remember. I was angry, and hurt, but I couldn't bring myself to demand any more from him. From what little I knew then, he'd already been through hell - just having him back on earth was more of a blessing than I had ever imagined I would receive. Still, the man he'd come back as was very different than the beautiful boy who'd left me behind, a year earlier. 

The others introduced themselves, Hunk and Pidge, and we started off our first conversation as a team, talking about my reasons for being in the desert. I told them about the energy that had pulled me there. I told them the things I'd seen, heard and experienced. But I did not tell them about Shiro. Part of me hoped that he would interject, himself. I wanted nothing more than for him to acknowledge the fact that he had returned, just like he'd promised me that he would, and that I had been waiting. 

But he didn't. He couldn't. He didn't know. 

Then the whole thing with the lions happened. We found Blue, and after that, life as any of us knew it was gone, left behind, light years in the past as we headed toward life as a team. Space was more frightening and awesome than I had ever imagined, especially with Lance at the helm. Arus was weird, but it was beautiful, and being in the castle there didn't feel any stranger than being on earth just that morning had. Shiro was close by, and even if I could only have him in the limited capacity that he could remember, he was with me. 

That was enough. It still is. 

He still hasn't remembered. We've been here for what feels like ages, living in the castle, in space, far from the places we'd been when I first fell in love with him. My world is so much bigger now, but he's still a huge part of it. I'm glad he's our captain, the head of team Voltron. There's no one in the universe I’d rather have guiding me. Even now, he feels like safety, like comfort, and in a strange way, like home. 

But he still has no idea. 

I keep waiting, hoping his memories will find him. It's not in vain; I've seen it happen. A little at a time, they come trickling back to his mind, flashes of feeling and fractions, tiny pieces of things he once knew. So far, it's only been in battle, in the heat of moments made of fear and powered by adrenaline. But it's consistent. Something happens, the dam breaks, and he remembers life before in floods, like creeks and rivers, flowing back to the ocean. I keep waiting for my turn, to return to the sea. 

I don't know if the others can tell. I put my neck on the line for him way more than I'm proud to admit to, because regardless of the fact that he can't remember the way our fingers feel interlocked or the way his arms fit around me,  _ I _ remember, and I will do anything to protect what is left of that. I would have gladly laid my life down for him before he left, and that much hasn't changed. Shiro is still Shiro, even if he doesn't understand just how much that means to me. 

Strength is important. Especially now, with the five of us guarding the whole damned  _ universe, _ I can't really afford to let my weaknesses show. I can't let myself crumble, even when I want to, even when my heart twists in my chest and calls out for someone who can't hear it, anymore. I have to keep my head up, my face straight. I have to be strong, but it doesn't mean I don't spend my quiet time wishing for him to somehow return, and take some of that burden from me.

There are times that I think it's on the horizon. Almost every day, something small happens between us, and I think I can see him coming back to me. Our fingers will linger a little too long when he helps me up, or his hand will find its way to the small of my back, when I jump in front of him. He takes my arm often, looks at me when he's worried, when he's thinking, when he's happy. He reaches for me more than for anyone else; at least I like to tell myself that he does. It's things like that, little things that remind my every sense of touching and being touched by the person he used to be, and for a split second I pray to whatever God might be listening that he's back, that he remembers what we used to be. 

But it never lasts. 

He cares for the entire team the same way he cares for me, and though I admire that in him, I mourn the loss of being something special to him. I miss the promise of a future with Shiro’s hand in mine. I miss loving, and for once being loved in return. 

I miss Shiro. But with me literally at his right hand in battle and in life, he has no reason to miss me. 

Common sense tells me I should just remind him. We've had plenty of opportunities to talk, and I know him well enough to know that even now, with things as they are, if I wandered into his room at night with a heavy heart, he would sit up and scoot over in his bed, and welcome me to unload my worries. Maybe if I told him everything, about the way he used to share his bed with me, whenever we had the chance, he would remember. Maybe if I just opened the door, he could come back through it. Maybe I should. 

But a bigger part of me refuses to take that path. I know Shiro has been through more than I can even imagine, and I know that he's dealing with all of it the best and only way he can. How selfish would it be for me to ask him to prioritize his memories with me, when he can scarcely remember the names and faces of his family and friends from years before? I couldn't do that to him; I couldn't push. He will return to himself and to me at his own pace, as soon as he's able. 

After all, he promised me that he would. 

So I'm waiting. Every time he remembers more of his past, I'm there, hoping it's a piece of the past with me in it. I'm waiting, hoping that he'll remember the way I look in his jackets that hung far too loose on my shoulders, the way my hair felt when it was only just long enough to curl his fingers into, or the way I sound when I whisper his name against his lips. 

I'm waiting for him to remember me, the way he once knew me, as I remember him.

Until then, everything feels like it's on standby. Shiro was my motivation for many things. He gave me hope and kept me moving forward. While he was gone, my world felt like it was spiraling in reverse. Now, I just feel like I'm running in place, spinning wheels that will never carry me forward.

I'm sure he's going to come to his senses someday. He’ll wake up from sleep or come back from a flashback remembering everything, and he’ll take me in his arms and let me fall apart. I won't have to put on a strong facade, anymore. One of these days, everything will be back to normal. 

Until then, I'm going to be right beside him. Patient. Unmoving. 

Static. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought!
> 
> Find me on [twitter](twitter.com/_quartetship_)  
> Find me on [tumblr](quartetship.tumblr.com)


End file.
